


The Way Forward

by KottonKat



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Angst, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, Survival, This is Troppy, sharing space, stuck together trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25777057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KottonKat/pseuds/KottonKat
Summary: An incident leaves Megatron and Ratchet stranded on an alien planet, both weary, angry, and hurt by Prime's new relationship with Starscream and the course the war has taken.They find themselves needing to rely on one another to find a way home, and in the process begin to find a way to move forward.
Relationships: Megatron/Ratchet (Transformers), Optimus Prime/Starscream, Past Megatron/Starscream
Comments: 21
Kudos: 101





	The Way Forward

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, this was just supposed to be humor but it took a turnnn... hope you enjoy it anyway! ;) Second part should be up soon!

“Open a ground bridge, I’m going for a drive.”

Jazz looks up from his datapad, raising an optic ridge at the fuming medic striding across the bridge bay.

“Twins get to ‘ya again?” He asks, setting his datapad down to reach for the controls. “Where do ‘ya wanna go this time?”

Ratchet grunts, arms crossed over his chassis as he stands in front of the ground bridge portal. “I don’t care, just far away from here.”

Internally Jazz sighs, wondering what kind of mess Prowl will be bitching about to him tonight, and slaps a random set of coordinates into the system. “There ‘ya go, comm when yer ready ‘ta come back.”

Ratchet doesn't reply, just transforms the second the portal flashes open and takes off into the glow, tires skidding on the floor.

This time Jazz blows out an audible sigh and shakes his helm, wondering if he’ll be delivering energon to the twins in the brig for the second time this week.

\- - -

Ratchet flies out of the ground bridge, his pace increasing the second his tires hit the pavement.

He’s angry, though not at the twins as Jazz had suspected. This anger had nothing to do with misbehaving speedsters or even a stubborn patient, and everything to do with the scene he’d stumbled out of his office to see after a long night of catching up on paperwork.

Starscream.

But not just Starscream either, whose presence on the Ark these past months has left them all confused and angry. But more what his presence really meant when it was wrapped around Optimus like a vice that would never let go.

Ratchet hated to think of it. Hated to think that somehow _Starscream_ of all mechs in the universe, had been the one to worm his way beneath Optimus’ plating.

But more than that he hated, _hated_ , to think of what was growing within the seekers spark.

Ratchet had been so incensed when he’d found out about the sparking that he had immediately dropped both Starscream and Optimus as patients, straight into First Aid’s lap.

It had been hard enough before, knowing that the spark bond between them – the details of which he was not privy to – meant that Optimus was serious. He wanted Starscream, and for reasons Ratchet didn’t want to think about, Starscream wanted him back.

It hurt.

He and Orion had never had a relationship, though there had been moments that felt it was edging there before Megatron had come along. He’d been jealous then, wanting Orion’s attention all for himself, as well as terrified of what sort of mech he was getting himself tangled in. Those fears had quite obviously come to pass, and the war they were fighting was proof enough of that. But the jealously at least, had been unfounded.

Unfounded because the moment Orion became Optimus Prime everything between them that was more than friendship withered and died. Ratchet had consoled himself that there was nothing to be done, that carrying the mantel of the Primacy had removed the part of Orion capable of romantic love in the same way it had removed so many other facets of him.

He’d been wrong, and now he was hurt and angry and rather betrayed all over again.

He picks up his speed, rounding a corner a bit to sharply but too pissed off to care. If Optimus wanted Starscream then who was he to give a damn? What did it matter that everything he had been to Optimus – confidant, advisor, unwavering comfort – had been delegated to Starscream? What did it matter that everything he had found in Optimus was now gone?

It didn’t, not at all.

He passes close to two hours this way, just driving on what seemed to be some back road in a location he hadn’t yet bothered to check. He was not even certain what part of the plant Jazz had sent him to and didn’t care enough to check his NAV system to find out. It had an open road and nobody seemed to be around, which made it perfect to work out a bit of frustration.

At some point though his anger begins to ebb, morphing into numb tiredness he can’t shake off, and he finds himself slowing down. His tank pings and he realizes that in his state of rage he has been unconsciously dismissing his systems request for energon for quite some time.

He hasn’t fuelled since last evening, and it was already past noon. His fuel levels have dropped quite low, low enough that if he doesn't tend to them soon he will be close to redlining. He pulls over, and after checking for any humans loitering around he decides it’s safe enough to transform.

He’s halfway through his cube when it happens, the sound of an explosion in the woods behind him. The ground trembles beneath his pedes, and when he turns, his optics catch the telltale sign of smoke drifting up into the air.

His first instinct is to rush up there because explosions during wartime almost always meant injuries. But this was also Earth, and it was highly likely that whatever was going on involved humans and was likely meant to be happening.

It was probably just a mining site, or perhaps even construction, something the humans were doing safely and on purpose. Still, it was hard to ignore the pinging of his medical protocols, the urge to fix and protect a rising uneasiness in his spark.

With a sigh, Ratchet stashes his half-drunk cube back in his subspace. He won’t be able to stop thinking about it until he is certain everything is fine. Just a quick check, while staying as hidden as he can, and his spark would be eased and he’d be able to continue on his way.

Two minutes into making his way through the woods and he curses. The forest is thick, and picking his way through it is much more troublesome than he had anticipated. But he pushes forward while doing his best to be as silent as possible. He is not a mech made for stealth, but eons of war had forced him to learn ways to make himself quiet when needed, and he uses them now, anxious about being detected.

After a few more long minutes he gets closer to the site of the explosion, his olfactory senses picking up the smell of smoke. Through the thick forest growth he can just make out the sight of a clearing where the smoke seems to be rising from, and he edges carefully around a copse of larger trees to hide his frame from view.

He finds a spot to stick his head out from the thick branches, so he can get a good look around, and blinks against the bright sunlight that assaults his optics. The moment his vision clears he freezes, and the energon in his frame runs cold. There, standing no more than a few leagues away is Megatron.

He curses his luck because of course, he’d run into Decepticons out here in the middle of nowhere when they’ve barely been active for months.

Ratchet scours his processor for options. Retreat at this point might be risky, it is a miracle they hadn’t heard him coming to begin with. He may have been trying to be as quiet as possible, but that certainly didn’t mean he’d completely succeeded. Aside from that, there was also the fact that Ratchet wanted to know what they were doing out here.

It was no secret that over the last few months the Autobots had managed to gain the upper hand. Prowl under advice given by Starscream and with the resigned approval of Optimus, had started on a campaign to weaken the Decepticons by starving them out. They’d been working nearly nonstop with Starscream’s knowledge of all things Decepticon to find and take over every mineable energon deposit they could, managing to successfully stay one step ahead of the Megatron the entire time. It was working too, with reports coming in that the Decepticons had resorted to returning to old, nearly stripped mines to gather whatever scraps they could.

Ratchet knew that Optimus didn’t entirely approve, but at this point saw little other option. Not much else they had done to curb them had worked, and this way ultimately kept the humans safer, which was Optimus’ top priority, and while he was loathed to admit it, deep down Ratchet felt the same way. Which meant finding out what the Decepticons were up to here was a priority, one he would have to take on himself.

So he waits and watches while remaining as still as possible.

But they’re not doing much. Just standing around, clearly waiting for something.

Five long minutes pass before _finally_ , Megatron makes a move, his shoulders hiking up in clear irritation as he glances towards Soundwave. “How much longer until Shockwave sends his space bridge?”

Soundwave turns slightly and meets Megatron’s optics. “Estimate: Within minutes.”

Ratchet tenses and curses again. Nothing that involved Shockwave was good news, whatever came out of that space bridge would be trouble, and that meant it was high time to give base a call. He keeps one optic on the Descriptions, but they are once again just standing there, only the Constructicons are doing anything, and they’re just kicking rocks in random directions while the Cone-heads hiss and jump away to avoid getting hit. So Ratchet pings Jazz, and can’t keep the gratefulness out of his voice when the saboteur picks up on the first ring.

“Heyyy Ratch’, ‘ya ready to come back now?”

“Yes and no.” He says, trying to figure out how to explain his situation. “I’ve... run into a hiccup.”

“Hiccup?” Ratchet can piratically feel Jazz blinking at him in confusion, and he huffs a sigh over the commlink.

“I’ve run into Decepticons. They don’t know I’m here, at least, not yet.” When Jazz speaks next his voice is as hard as a stone, and the playful lilt from earlier is long gone.

“Send me your coordinates, I’m ground bridging ‘ya out of there.”

Later, in hindsight, Ratchet will wonder where things would have gone if he had gotten Jazz to bridge him out right then. But considering he’s not the sort of mech to fall into sentimentally, he’ll shrug it off and take things as they are.

“No, not yet. They’re waiting on a space bridge from Shockwave, I want to see what comes through.”

“Absolutely not.” Jazz snaps back, and the coldness in his voice sends a shiver up Ratchet’s frame. It’s not a tone he’s used to the saboteur directing at him, and he suddenly realizes why there are mechs on the Ark who are terrified of the third in command.

But Ratchet is not the kind of mech to be easily deterred. He’s a reputation for being stubborn and even fearless himself, so he shrugs it off and doubles down. “No Jazz, I’m staying. Whatever these rust heaps are up to, we need to know, who knows what Shockwave has come up with this time?”

There’s silence for a moment on the other end, and then Jazz sighs. “Fine, ‘ya stubborn old bolt, but ‘ya comm me back the second yer done, ‘ya hear?”

“Got it,” Ratchet says, disconnecting the call before Jazz can change his mind. It’s not that he doesn't appreciate the concern, but there are times the constant hovering gets on his nerves. He is a more than capable mech, and all of the worrying makes him feel older than he is. No one hovers over Ironhide or Kup, and both warriors have eons on him.

He stifles another huff and adjusts his position just a bit to try and get a better look at the clearing. From what he can see there are about two dozen Decepticons, most of them down by the crater standing with Megatron, looking for all the world like they’d rather be anywhere else.

From his vantage point he can see most of it, all except a small corner of the clearing where most of the cone heads had skittered off to after the Constructicons had started kicking rocks, but if he leans, just a little, he should be able to see all of it. He starts to do so, but halfway between pushing himself out just a bit farther there’s a _snap_ and an indignant sounding squawk.

Ratchet freezes, just in time for an angry bird to swoop at his head and for every optic in the clearing to snap his way. 

Well... scrap.

At this point there isn’t much he can do. Megatron is already stomping his way across the clearing, his face set into a look as hard as stone, while every other Decepticon has drawn whatever weapons they have and are pointing them in his direction.

“Hey Jazz, you wanna open that ground bridge now?”

He sends the comm and takes a vent, straightening from his crouch in the bushes. There was no point in standing here twiddling his thumbs any longer. 

“Comin’ right up, settin’ it for a few feet in front of ya’.”

Ratchet doesn't bother responding to Jazz, instead squaring his shoulders and stepping out of the bushes into the direct sight of two dozen odd Decepticon’s. It’s not that he is stupid, so much as he finds there is really no point in hiding anymore, and with any luck the bridge will be opening within moments anyway.

“Medic,” Megatron growls, the moment he steps out into the light, still stalking his way forward. “Dare I ask why you are skulking around in the bushes, or has Prime grown so low on soldiers with a processor he’s resorted to sending you out?”

Ratchet rolls his optics and crosses his arms, and gives Megatron the same look that tends to send even the twin’s fleeing. “Oh, like you’re one to talk.” He flaps a hand in the direction of the Constructicon’s, who clearly seeing Ratchet as no threat, have devolved into trying to bait the cone heads by making lewd gestures. Megatron snaps his helm around, the look on his face becoming terrifyingly void when he catches the shenanigans taking place behind him. 

Ratchet is about to laugh, because _really_ , when the whoosh of a ground bridge opening a few feet away distracts him. Ah, seemed that was his cue to leave. He pivots on his heel and makes to sprint the short distance to the whirling portal, when a cry that sounds incredibly irritated causes him to stop and turn around

Just in time for Megatron to barrel into him. 

The force of Megatron’s incredible bulk knocks him off his pedes, and the last thing he registers before everything becomes chaos, is a set of burning, red optics staring into his own.

\- - -

Ratchet onlines with a groan, feeling for all the world like he’d been plowed over by a freight train. There is a heavy weight on his chest, and when he tries to suck in a vent he only manages about half of one.

Just what the pit had he been doing? And what the hell was on top of him?

He lifts his only free arm and shoves at the weight, hitting warm, solid metal.

The frag? There was somebody on him!

Despite really not wanting too, he onlines his optics and is immediately assaulted by bright light. Spots dance in his vision as his optics adjust, and when they do, he blinks. Above him is what can only be clear, endless, _purple_ , sky.

Huh.

Purple sky.

And like that the memories of the last little while slam into him. Decepticons, space bridges, the ground bridge he’d had Jazz send, and of course, bloody _Megatron_ full on body slamming him.

Which meant... which meant the weight on his chest was most likely...

He manages to raise his head just enough to see over his chest, and sure enough, is greeted by the sight of an unmistakable helm face planted right on top of him.

Ratchet groans again, and this time it has nothing to do with his aching frame, and everything to do with the fact that the most insufferable piece of rust to ever be spawned was recharging across him like a damn cybercat.

His luck really was the pits.

As though hearing his thoughts, _something_ begins to rumble in the not so far off distance.

Ratchet freezes from trying to wriggle his way out from underneath Megatron, turning his audials up just in time to hear tremors begin under the surface of the ground. He curses louder this time, because whatever the hell that was, it was getting closer, and it was starting to sound like something moving through the earth.

“ _Megatron_ ,” he hisses, shoving at the warlord's pauldron. “Wake the pit up!”

Megatron makes a sound, more static than anything, and gives a full-frame twitch but otherwise doesn't move. The thing is clearly getting closer, Ratchet can feel the ground shaking now, and panic begins to lance through his spark.

It seems he only has one option, but Megatron is not going to like it.

Sucking in as much of a vent as he can, Ratchet digs the fingers of his free hand into the plating gaps of Megatron’s neck, searching through wires until he finds the one he wants. This one goes straight into the brain module, and with just the right amount of electricity...

“Rahh!”

Megatron wakes with a yell loud enough to send Ratchet’s audials ringing. The warlord's hands, once limp, clench painfully against his plating, undoubtedly leaving dents.

But Ratchet can’t care about that right now, because the rumbling is now right below them and getting closer, they need to move.

“You!” Megatron roars, red optics cycled wide and brimming with anger and confusion down at Ratchet. He looks ready to strike, but the medic knows they are nearly out of time, and so, with all of the strength he can muster, he shoves Megatron with his now freed arms.

“Move!” He yells, as Megatron, stunned, falls backward, toppling off of him and hitting the ground. It’s just enough for Ratchet to yank his legs out the rest of the way and make a half dive in the direction the warlord has fallen.

Not even a half a second later the ground they were both just on begins to fracture, spider-webbing out in all directions, as the thing pushes its way to the surface.

Ratchet spares a look at Megatron, whose optics have gone from furious to confused, and once again yells for him to move while scrambling to get up himself. It seems to snap him out of his stupor, and quicker than anyone would give him credit for Megatron is on his pedes, the hum of his fusion cannon cycling up only barely audible over the rush of energon in Ratchet’s audials.

Ratchet only makes it a few steps away before there is a massive crack. He throws a look over his shoulder just in time to catch a gaping maw, full of rows of sharp teeth break the surface. The high pitched whine of Megatron’s fusion cannon firing comes next, and he watches with wide optics as the formidable blast hits the creature head-on.

The aftershock of the blast is rough, scrambling his systems and causing him to stumble. He’s about to make a face plant when a rough hand grabs him by the arm and yanks him back up, before shoving him forward.

“Run, now!” Megatron snaps, folding down into his alt mode and taking off across the rocky terrain.

Ratchet obeys without thought, gunning his engine so hard he can feel it all the way in his wheels. Behind them, the creature lets out an unholy sheik, and the ground once again begins to tremble violently, loosening rocks and making the drive forward difficult.

Despite that, Ratchet does what he can to keep up with Megatron, swerving around debris and plowing through it where it cannot be avoided. His shocks scream at him in anger, but he grits his denta and increases his speed until he’s as close to the warlord as he can get.

Megatron’s tank alt smashes through just about everything, paving a bit of a way for Ratchet to follow, and he concentrates on following the ruts left behind because a blown tire is the last thing he needs right now. He is, in fact, so engrossed in following Megatron that he only narrowly avoids smashing into him when he stops suddenly and transforms.

He’s about to blare his horn as loud as possible to tell the fragger to keep on _moving_ when only a few leagues in front of them the creature once again erupts from the ground. Ratchet hadn’t gotten a good look at the thing before, but now he can see it in all of its horrific glory, and he really wished he couldn't.

It is a massive, cylindrical thing that can only be described as some kind of monstrous worm. Even from his distance Ratchet can see the thing is covered in layered plates, which seemed to be shifting atop one another like the scales on a snake.

Its mouth is open, and he can see hundreds of sharp teeth gleaming in the sun. The sight brings another shudder, and if it weren't for the sound of Megatron once again firing up his fusion cannon, Ratchet would have been frozen there.

“The second it makes impact, go right, towards the treeline.”

Megatron does not turn to look at him while he speaks, but his tone is low, commanding, and deathly serious. Any other day Ratchet would have told him to frag off and attempted a well-placed blow to a particularity vulnerable area, but right now he feels inclined to listen, and while that chafes at him he still turns his tires to the right and catches the line of trees with one optic.

The other optic he keeps on Megatron, who braces, waiting, as the creature turns toward them. It must see, or at least sense them, because it begins to surge forward, flinging rock and other debris as it goes.

Ratchet is about to shout, to demand Megaton fire his damn cannon already when he lets loose the blast. It rockets forward, bigger and brighter than the blast he’d let out a few minutes earlier, and hits the creature dead center in its open maw.

The shriek the creature lets out this time is even more horrid than before, and it splits his audials so painfully that for a moment he feels unbalanced. The only thing that gets him going is the sting of Megatron slapping a hand down on the top of his hood before he transforms and takes off towards the trees looming in the distance.

Ratchet accelerates as fast as he is able and tares off after him. In his mirrors, he can see the creature twisting and writhing in agony, the ground around it breaking up into huge chunks from the force of its thrashing.

It takes no more than a few minutes to reach the treeline, but it feels like much longer as Ratchet does his best to keep both Megatron and the thankfully still stunned creature in his sight. The second they reach their destination Megatron folds back into root mode and Ratchet follows. He does not stop, nor even turn to see if the medic is still behind him, but walks briskly into the strange looking forest before them.

Ratchet quickens his stride to catch up, despite his uneasiness in doing so. Right now Megatron seemed to be the lesser of two evils, though considering the alternate was that thing back there, the thought wasn’t exactly comforting. 

Honestly, just what the hell was going on?

They needed to figure out where they were, and why they were, to boot. Ratchet had the feeling they were far from earth, and far from any place he’d been before. It seemed as though something had gone wrong with the ground bridge, which should have been unable to send them anywhere that was not Earth.

So the question was, just how the hell had they wound up here, on what seemed to be a completely different planet? Only a space bridge could manage such a thing and there hadn’t been one open back on earth... or had there? The Decepticons had been waiting on a space bridge from Shockwave, and if the space bridge had opened on top of the ground bridge Jazz had sent...

“Oh for frag's sake.” Ratchet can feel his spark sinking as the pieces start to slot together, the idea that he and Megatron of all mechs were likely stranded on an alien planet Primus knew where in the universe, enough to make him want to strangle himself.

“Problem, medic?” Megatron has stopped, and he’s looking over his shoulder at Ratchet with a raised brow ridge, his red optics banked but calculating.

“Oh no, just fine thanks.” Ratchet growls, clenching his hands into fists at his side. “Exactly how I planned on spending my day.”

Megatron regards him for a moment and lets out a huff that for any other mech might be considered amusement, before turning his head back around and resuming his pace. “I believe the creature is no longer a threat for the moment, but we should put as much distance between ourselves and it as we can.”

Ratchet stumbles a bit, this damn forest is thick, and the ground is littered with broken branches and soft soil. He curses again, for what feels like the umpteenth time today, and glares at the back of Megatron’s head.

“Really? I was going to suggest we stick around.” Not that he would have minded if Megatron had chosen to do so, being eaten by a giant worm would have been a hilariously fitting end.

“Your sarcasm is far from helpful, I suggest you pay more attention to your surroundings.”

“What the hell are you on abou- gahhh!” Ratchet’s pede chooses that moment to break through the soft leaf litter down into a hole that was probably some animal burrow. “Oh, for-” He yanks his foot back up, unable to keep from pulling a face at the crud now stuck to him. Megatron snorts, and this time there is no denying the amusement radiating from him.

Ratchet is sorely tempted to chuck something at the bastards head, something heavy and hard and wrench-like, only, he’s now just realizing he doesn't have the damn thing on him.

He sighs.

“This is all your damn fault you know, you and your space bridge.”

Megatron stops again and turns to face him, and Ratchet can’t keep the smirk off of his face. He looks hilariously small compared to the towering trees, they both do, but the sight of the larger than life warlord made strangely minuscule is striking.

Ratchet takes a silent still capture and tucks it away for later. Ironhide will enjoy it if nothing else.

“My fault?” There’s a bit of a growl in his voice now, the kind that tends to make mechs flee in fear but Megatron has never scared Ratchet. Not once during the entirety of the war, nor during any of their other encounters, has Ratchet feared him. Anger certainly, disgust, resentment, but never fear. “And who was it that opened a ground bridge?”

Ah, so perhaps Megatron had figured out what had gone wrong.

“Whatever.” He makes a point to stride past Megatron, nearly brushing their frames together in the process, and stomps on ahead. Typical Decepticon, never able to take responsibility.

They continue on for a while, this time with Ratchet in the lead. The forest and its strange flora and fauna grow thinner, and the ground finally begins to even out. They must be coming to the other side, and Ratchet quickens his pace, eager to get out of the dirt and decay.

A few minutes later and the mouth of the forest comes into sight, Ratchet makes to break through the treeline but is stopped by a heavy hand snagging his shoulder plating.

“Stop, be still,” Megatron speaks directly into his audial, and Ratchet shudders to realize how close he has gotten without him noticing. He wants to hiss back, or even slap the hand away, but before he can Megatron has already let him go and is edging his way forward to poke his head out from a thicket of low hanging branches.

Ratchet crosses his arms and once again levels a glare at Megatron’s back. The urge to ignore him and stomp his way forward is great, but the memory of the giant worm keeps him rooted to the spot. Let the fragger be the first to get spotted by danger, it suited him just fine.

Finally, after a long moment, Megatron turns to him and nods, pushing his way through the treeline and out into an open field. Ratchet follows and blinks rapidly when the bright sun once again appears above them, and stares out over the expanse of blueish grass spread in all directions.

The damn field looks to go on for miles, and aside from the stretch of the forest behind them, the only other discernible thing Ratchet can see is the faint shape of mountains in the distance. “We’ll head for the mountains,” Megatron says, once again standing closer than Ratchet would like him too. “It is our best bet to find safety before nightfall.”

Ratchet hates to agree with him, but the thought of wandering around out here at night was as unpleasant as turning back and dealing with that... thing again. Still, there was an issue that needed to be dealt with before he went any further.

“What game are you playing?” This time when he glares, he levels it at Megatron’s face and makes certain to pour as much of his disdain into it as he can. He doesn't trust Megatron, not a bit, and the lack of hostility is putting him on edge. Whatever the bastard was planning, he wanted to know.

“Game?” He meets Ratchet’s glare head-on, but the look he meets it with is surprisingly devoid of... anything. “The game I’m playing, doctor, is the game of survival. We are on a clearly hostile world, with no current means of leaving, I see no point in playing games.”

It is a better answer than Ratchet had been expecting, and if he were a little more foolish he would have even called it sincere. But this was Megatron, and Ratchet was no fool, he didn’t trust the mech one iota, but perhaps in light of their circumstance, they could somewhat... work together.

Primus.

It is an unappealing thought, but one whose necessity he can’t ignore. They were essentially trapped here until someone managed to reach them, and while Ratchet held out hope in his teammate's ability to locate them, the likelihood of it happening any time soon was slim.

“Alright, fine.” He sets his best glare on his face and puts both hands on his hips for added effect. “I don’t trust you, and I definitely don’t like you, but I see no other option than to... work together.” The last two words are difficult to get out, and he spits them through clenched denta. By the pit, this day is shaping up to be the worst in his existence, and that he would much rather be home, caught up in the twin's latest prank speaks a lot to that feeling.

“How noble of you.” Megatron snorts, before once again transforming down into his tank mode. He pulls ahead a little bit, engine idling loudly, clearly waiting for Ratchet to do the same.

He hadn’t noticed it earlier, amongst all of the chaos and running for their lives, but Megatron’s engine sounds a little too loud, a little too strained. The fragger probably had a clogged filtration system, an easy fix, but with Hook for a doctor, it frankly was not surprising. Ratchet found he took a bit of glee in knowing it was definitely uncomfortable.

Ha. Served the aft right.

They set off across the field with Megatron in the lead, which is just fine by Ratchet, and they keep a moderate pace. Unlike earlier, the ground here is even and relatively free of debris, which makes driving much easier. His shocks are still sore from the bumpy ride during their escape, and the more sedate pace feels better on his way to old for this frame.

It also gives him the chance to look around, although currently there isn’t much to see. Aside from the blue grass and purple sky things are pretty barren. A few winged animals are circling high above, some kind of bird most likely, but they seem uninterested in either of them much to Ratchet’s relief. The most interesting sight is the mountain range growing ever closer. It is enormous, the peaks so high the tops shoot up into the clouds, and the entire thing seems to spread out in either direction endlessly.

He judges they are about halfway there, only another few miles to go before they reach the base. What they’ll do once they get there is uncertain, but finding some kind of shelter before nightfall seems like their best bet on making it through the night. Ratchet finds he isn't eager to see what else this planet has lurking around on it.

He’s interrupted from his thoughts by a ping from an unknown comm.

“What?” His tone is snappish, but he finds he can’t feel bad about it given their circumstance, and how it is at the very least, half Megatron’s fault.

“We need to move faster. There’s a storm coming up behind us.”

Megatron’s words are even, calm, and it pisses Ratchet off just how unaffected he seems. It would feel a hell of a lot better if the warlord was acting more like himself, angry, hostile, and violent. That Ratchet could deal with, but this grounded version was seriously starting to get on his nerves.

“I don’t see a damn storm.” He doesn't either, no matter which way he points his mirrors the sky looks clear and calm. Perhaps the brute was finally going senile.

“Trust me,” Megatron huffs, and if there is a tinge of exasperation in his tone, well, it probably served him right. “We’ve maybe an hour before it hits.”

Ratchet isn’t entirely sure if he believes him, but Megatron is already increasing his speed and he finds he has no choice but to follow suit or get left behind. If a storm really is coming, the last thing they want is to be out in the open.

“You got a plan for when we get there?”

Making idle conversation with Megatron isn't exactly on his list of fun things to do, but he figures they should at least try and be on the same page for survival's sake, if nothing else.

“Finding shelter. Somewhere hidden, if possible.”

That at least, Ratchet can agree with.

They drive for a few more minutes in silence before finally reaching the base of the mountain. It is enormous, from this close, and nothing but sheer rock face jutting straight up. There is no way either of them are going to be able to climb any of it, and Ratchet transforms with a huff to stare up at the impassive wall of rock.

“Well,” and he turns to eye Megatron. “Any ideas?”

Megatron steps forward and places a hand on a bit of rock, then closes his optics and seems to concentrate on... something. He pulls back after a few moments and looks to the east, then behind them from the direction they came, and frowns.

“There is a slope up that way, if we’re quick we can reach it before the storm sets in.”

Ratchet glances behind them and has to stifle a curse. In the distance, thick, dark clouds have just begun to gather, and he realizes with a start that a breeze has begun to blow where before the air had been still.

It seems Megatron had been right, somehow, about the weather changing.

They head east, picking their way along the mountain and around boulders and groupings of rock. It’s too uneven and bumpy to drive here, so they both make their way along on foot. Ratchet can see from his peripherals that the sky is getting darker and that the cloud cover is moving in quickly. The wind is changing too, the breeze from minutes before picking up strength without any sign of stopping.

“How much further?” He calls to Megatron, who instead of answering points a few leagues ahead.

The last push to their destination involves scrambling over some bigger chunks of rock, and by the time they clear it, Ratchet is panting for breath. By Primus shit like this makes him feel old, and it’s made all the worse by the fact that Megatron seems unfazed.

“Up here.”

Megatron starts making his way up the small slope, which is covered in loose rock but thankfully not very steep. They both manage it with minimal slipping, though at one point Ratchet does curse when one of Megatron’s missteps sends a small avalanche of rock straight at him. One of the bigger bits smashes into his shin hard enough to dent, and he has to bite down on his glossa to keep from crying out.

“Are you alright?”

He nearly jumps at the sound of Megatron’s voice, and when he glances up it’s to see that the warlord has stopped his ascent and is looking at him over his shoulder. Ratchet wants to spit something mean, something nasty enough to rile the other mech up, but the look in Megatron’s optics stops him.

He looks genuinely concerned, in the way one might expect a normal mech to be, and it stuns him enough that all he can mutter is a short “fine,” while he hurries past him. He finds he doesn't want to think about it right now, about the way Megatron has been acting today, because it brings nothing but confusion and incredulity.

Behind him, Megatron lets out a sound that could be a sigh, but Ratchet puts it out of his mind and scrambles up the last few feet to where the slope finally evens out. They’re not up very high, maybe forty feet or so, but it is enough to see out over the open field and the dark clouds blowing closer.

“This way, there’s a crevice I think we’ll both fit into.”

The crevice Megatron leads them to is really just that, a crevice. It is no more than a long, narrow space between two huge chunks of rock, and Ratchet immediately balks.

“There’s no way we’re both getting in there!” At least, not without being half on top of each other.

“Stand out here if you want, medic,” Megatron is already pushing his way inside the crack, angled a bit sideways to accommodate his massive shoulders. “But the wind alone from this storm will be enough to knock you sideways once it starts, and I estimate it is only mere moments before it begins.”

As if to mock him the first few splats of rain land on Ratchet helm, and he growls low in his chassis. “Oh, for-” he shoves his way into the fissure, then presses his shoulders flat against the wall and slides down to sit, mirroring Megaton across from him. He’d been right about them being practically on top of each other, both his legs and Megatron’s forced to slide together in order for them both to fit.

For a long while, they sit in silence, listening to the storm pick up force. The wind howls with incredible strength, so strong that the now pounding rain shoots sideways, as though it were coming from somewhere other than the sky. It’s a storm the likes of which he has never seen, not even during hurricane season on earth, and Ratchet shudders internally at the thought of being stuck out in it.

Megatron had been right, the wind alone would have been enough to knock him over.

Speaking of the warlord, Ratchet shoots him a look. He is not certain what he expects to find the other mech doing, plotting maybe, but Megatron is just sitting there, head turned towards the mouth of the cave, watching the rain with dim optics.

He looks... tired. Like a mech put through the wringer with little rest and little fuel, and Ratchet purses his lips in thought.

Megatron had fired his fusion cannon twice in pretty close succession, and while Ratchet wasn’t certain just how much energy it took to do so, he reckoned it was a fair amount. There was no way that cannon was light on fuel, it packed too much of a wallop for that, which meant the warlord was likely starving.

Ratchet sighs.

He has energon in his subspace, seven cubes not counting the half-drunk one from earlier, and a few emergency packs of med grade. He supposes he should share, because the thought of leaving Megatron to starve sits funny in his spark, and whether he liked it or not they were grudgingly in this together.

“Here.” He grunts, after fishing out two cubes. Megatron glances his way and raises a brow ridge, red optics distant and tired.

“How kind.” He mutters, but there is little sting in his words. He does take the offered cube though, cracking the top off and downing nearly half of it in one pull.

Ratchet opens his own but sips at it a bit slower. He’s hungry too, but not so terribly he feels the need to inhale his cube whole.

Megatron finishes his quickly and hands the empty cube back to Ratchet. He leans his head back against the rock and regards the medic with thoughtful optics that are now beginning to brighten.

“There is energon on this planet,” he says finally, tapping a finger on the ground beside him. “We need to find it if we want to last.”

“How do you know that?” Ratchet asks after swallowing his mouthful.

Megatron lifts a single shoulder and turns to once again stare out at the driving rain. “I was a miner. I have a sensory suite equipped to pick up on energon signals.” He runs one hand along the wall and sighs. “I never deactivated it.”

Well, that certainly explained a thing or two, like how he’d known about this cave and the slope leading up to it. Ratchet found he often forgot Megatron’s beginnings when he’d met him for the first time Megatron had already been a gladiator in the pits, and that he had been a miner first often slipped Ratchet’s processor.

“And the storm?” He’s curious about that too, how the mech had known without a clear sign that the weather was about to turn. 

“An upgrade.” He shrugs, and Ratchet gets the feeling that there is more to it than that but decides not to press his luck in asking. “It’s useful, at times.”

They lapse into silence once more. Ratchet finishes his cube and subspaces the empty containers, figuring that if they do manage to find energon they will be useful. He stretches out a bit more to relieve the ache beginning in his lower back and ignores the way his legs press against Megatron’s own.

“We should recharge.” Megatron’s voice is low, barely audible over the howl of the wind.

It has been a long day, and Ratchet can feel the exhaustion beginning to creep upon him. Recharge sounded like a solid idea, though the thought of doing so with Megatron pressed so close was not the most appealing. But it seemed he had little choice, so he grunts in agreement and leans his helm against the rock behind him and shudders his optics closed.

He can hear and feel Megatron shifting around, arranging his limbs to try and get comfortable before settling down. The only sound aside from their quiet vents is the wind raging outside, and Ratchet focuses on it and lets his mind wander.

He’s worried about his comrades back on the arc. About Wheeljack and Ironhide, but mostly, Optimus. The anger and hurt the past few months have brought have done nothing to diminish the worry he still feels for his oldest friend, even if it had begun to seem those feelings were no longer reciprocated. It was a thought he hated, knowing what they had was now diminished in the face of Starscream’s affections.

He shifts, agitated by the thoughts running through his processor, and has to clamp down on the urge to hit something really hard. The last thing he wanted was to let on to Megatron just how upset he was, the aft would likely just use it against him in some underhanded way, like a turbofox picking off a glitch mouse.

No, he had to try and keep a level head, try and keep one step ahead of Megatron if he wanted to remain online. This sensible, level headed act the warlord was playing wouldn't last forever, at some point his fangs would come back out and Ratchet would find himself at the end of a charged fusion cannon. There was a reason he didn’t trust the mech, a reason why watching Optimus do so time and time again was painful, Megatron had proven as much

He always did.

\- - -

Ratchet wakes with a jolt from the middle of a terrible flux where the only thing he can remember is sharp teeth in the darkness. His spark is pounding in his chassis, and he gasps in a vent to try and quell it while blinking against the bright light assaulting his optics.

His processor is a jumble of confusion, sensory data flying at him from all directions while his base protocols struggle to catch up after being awoken so suddenly.

Reality slams into him a moment later, when his memory finally catches up and reminds him why he is sitting in a damp cave. The entire previous day feels like a bad nightmare, and he groans and rubs at his face when the realization hits that _oh no_ , it definitely was not.

“You’re up. Good. We should get going.”

His helm snaps to the left at the sound of the voice to land on Megatron. The fragger is standing outside the opening to the crevice, arms crossed over his chassis. Sun is pouring into the small space from over his massive shoulder, and Ratchet has to squint against it to make out his face.

It’s blank, no discernible emotion showing on it and Ratchet finds he’s clenching his denta together before he can stop it. Screw the bastard being so calm and passive, that act needed to go.

“Yeah? Think I missed the part where we decided you were the one to call the shots.”

Rationally, he knows actively trying to piss Megatron off is a bad idea. But being rational when it came to Megatron was never something he’d been able to manage before. Even before the war, when he had been nothing more than an acquaintance introduced to him by Orion, Ratchet had found endless glee in trying his patience.

Back then, it had been in part due to a bit of jealously. But beyond that, there had also been an undeniable joy in watching the expressions of rage and indignity cross that hardened face. The lack of those expressions now was putting him on edge, because while Megatron was many things, passive was not one of them.

“I’ve found a promising energon signal.” Megatron shifts, turning to look over his shoulder off into the distance. “But if you have a better idea I’m all audials.”

Ratchet doesn't, of course, he’s not able to track energon signals the way a forged miner can, but a part of him wished he could just to see what sort of reaction it would gain from this eerily docile Megatron.

“No.” Ratchet shoves himself up off the ground, holding back a wince as several gears pop in his back. He’s way to fragging old to be recharging on the ground, and his entire frame aches with it. “But are you certain it’s worth chasing after?” He pushes his way out of the crack, and some of his plating brushes Megatron’s own as he does. It earns him a slightly disgruntled look, and on the inside Ratchet smirks. He’s not certain if it’s the question or the touching, but either way, he is counting it as a victory.

“My sensors tell me it’s sizable.” He follows Ratchet away from the crevice, arms still crossed tightly. “We will need to cross this mountain range, not an easy feat here, but further ahead my scans show some kind of pass we should be able to use.”

“Pass?” He turns to look at Megatron and frowns at the pinched expression he finds on his face. If Ratchet knew better he would say he looks almost... concerned.

“It doesn't seem to be natural.”

It takes a few moments for that to sink in, and in the end, all Ratchet can do is stare off into the distance with a creeping sense of horror building in his tank. Not natural meant constructed and constructed meant...

“You think there is intelligent life here?”

That could pose a problem. He’d assumed this planet to be nothing but primitive based on what he’d seen so far. If higher life forms were running around, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t be hostile.

“I’m not certain.” Megatron takes a few steps forward, letting his arms fall to his sides as he does. He glances out over the open plain with sharp optics, and Ratchet can all but see the thoughts churning in his processor.

He shifts again and crosses his arms, then turns toward the direction they need to go and starts walking. “Whatever, we can’t stay here. We should forget about it for now.” He masks his worry with irritation, a default as far as Ratchet went, but in reality, he was beginning to feel uneasy.

As they make their way back down the slope both are silent. Megatron seems lost in thought, and Ratchet has no desire to make conversation at the moment, so they pick their way along the mountain quietly.

The sun is up in full force, and the sky is once again clear. The only evidence of the previous day's storm is the leftover puddles of water, which have already begun to evaporate in the heat. Ratchet keeps his optic out for any signs of life, still unnerved by what Megatron had said earlier, but all he sees are small insects going about their business.

They certainly didn’t look intelligent, just simple, similar to the abundance of insects found on earth. At one point he even spots a small creature that reminds him of a vole or a mouse, but it takes one look at him and skitters beneath an outcropping of rock.

No, definitely not intelligent life.

An hour passes this way, with Ratchet stumbling along behind Megatron, optics drawn to any movement he sees. He won’t admit to being paranoid, but between yesterday's attack and Megatron’s words this morning he finds himself feeling on edge. It doesn't help that every so often Megatron stops to stare into the distance with that same concerned look on his face, as though he’s privy to something he doesn't want to share.

He does his best to put it out of his processor, but it remains a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. If there was some form of intelligent life here, he just hoped they were neither hostile nor advanced enough to pose a threat. He also hoped they were not heading straight for them, because they needed energon and would not survive long out here without it, and dying out here on an alien planet next to Megatron was about as appealing as drinking the engex Sideswipe brewed under his bunk.

It wasn’t, in the least.

So Ratchet sucks in a deep vent and trudges along, ignoring the unease growing inside while doing his level best to keep from tripping on the rocky, uneven ground. His tank rumbles in hunger but he pays no mind, this at least he is used to pushing past.

Twenty minutes later and Megatron stops once again, and he stands still long enough that Ratchet comes up beside him, scanning the horizon to pick out what the warlord is looking for.

“Just up there.”

He can’t see what Megatron is talking about, but for the moment he feels inclined to believe him. At his clinic in the Dead End, he’d treated a few miners who had sought him out, and each one had been equipped with sensors that enabled them to navigate underground by using vibration to create a sort of sonar. That meant Megatron could see things Ratchet could not, like the layout of the surrounding land and how far away a certain point was.

They hike the last bit of distance in silence once more, but their pace is quicker and Megatron seems a bit more harried. He keeps shooting glances in every direction, as though he’s looking for something, and his demeanor has begun to set Ratchet more on edge.

“The hell are you looking for?” He finally snaps, after Megatron jerks his helm about for the fifth time in as many minutes.

“Nothing. At least, not yet.”

Ratchet does not believe him, but he’s also not certain he wants to know the truth. This is a bloody nightmare he just wants to be over already, so he grits his denta and moves forward, shoving past Megatron to walk the last few steps to the mouth of the pass.

And a pass it is, Ratchet thinks, as he stares into the yawning cavern before him.

It is a huge, perfectly circular hole cut straight into the base of the rock, big enough that an entire line of mechs could easily pass through it with distance between themselves. He can only see a few feet into it, the rest inky darkness spread outward for Primus only knew how far.

Wonderful.

Ratchet stands with his arms crossed staring into it, resolutely dismissing every single survival protocol pinging him to turn the hell around and keep walking. Behind him, Megatron finally stops staring at whatever nothing he’s been staring at and comes up beside him, optics peering into the abyss before them.

He glances up at Megatron and finds he doesn't like the deep frown on his face, nor the way his hands have clenched into fists at his sides. The mech is stupidly tense, staring into the darkness as though he expects something to come leaping out at them at any moment.

“We can’t stand out here all day.” He says finally, shifting from pede to pede in an attempt to lessen some of the nervous tension zipping through his frame. Ratchet doesn't want to walk in there as much as Megatron seems to, but daylight is wasting behind them and he wants to be on the other side of this mountain and anywhere else before nightfall.

His words seem to snap Megatron out of his brooding, and Ratchet can hear the deep, rattling vent he sucks in. That would be that clogged filtration system again, but instead of glee Ratchet’s medical protocols ping him in the back of his processor, a distant urge to fix that he shoves away.

Now is not the time.

Megatron takes a few steps forward and turns his headlights on, the soft beam of light penetrating a bit further into the darkness. There’s not much, from what Ratchet can see, just smooth, endless rock with no end in sight.

“We’ll drive it,” Megatron speaks while raking his gaze around the cavern. “Side by side, as close together as we can manage.”

Not once did Ratchet ever think he would be grateful for the thought of having Megatron by his side, but as he stares ahead into the eerie, silent cave he finds the feeling of relief nearly overwhelming. But letting on to Megatron how he felt was not going to happen, so rather than answer he transforms and pulls ahead just a bit, headlights on and waiting. Megatron huffs a bit behind him, but follows suit and pulls up alongside Ratchet, sending a ping to open up a comm line between them.

“What?” Ratchet grunts, more than ready to get moving.

“Stop it with the attitude.” Megatron’s voice rumbles through the comm, and Ratchet finds himself smirking internally at the irritation coloring his tone. “We should take it slow to start, and if we don’t run into trouble we’ll increase our pace.” Megatron begins to pull ahead, and Ratchet follows to stay as flush with him as he can. “Keep your senses up and if you see or hear _anything_ let me know immediately. Do not engage”

Ratchet grits his denta as a flare of anger shoots through him, how dare that aft talk to him like a new spark? He was the CMO for the entirety of the Autobot faction, not a green new build with a stunted processor!

“I’m not your damn lackey, Megatron.” He growls through the comm, bitterness sitting heavy in his tank. What was it with everyone thinking him incapable? He’d been around longer and had more experience than most of them combined, and he was getting very sick of everyone treating him as though he were made of glass.

“No, you most certainly are not. Which is why I’d like to keep you in one piece.” Megatron’s tone is low, but there is something shadowed in it that Ratchet can’t quite make out. He hates it, and if it were not for their current situation he would already be leaving Megatron in his dust.

“I can take care of myself! Or have you forgotten the times I’ve put _you_ on your aft?” He lets a hint of mockery seep through on the last bit, as memories of those very instances filter through his processor. Megatron’s face the first time he had done so was burned into his mind, the shock, the surprise, the _indignation_ as a few well-placed blows had Megatron falling to his knees in the middle of the battlefield.

Megatron should be the last mech underestimating him.

To Ratchet’s surprise, Megatron barks a laugh through the comm. It is a strange sound, one without bitterness, anger or derision, and an odd feeling lances through his spark at the sound of it.

“Oh, I’ve little doubt about that, nor will I soon forget your prowess when the mood strikes you.” His words are laced with amusement, but it seems to be directed at Megatron himself rather than Ratchet, as though he finds something deeply funny about being brought down by a noncombatant.

Pit, maybe he was losing it.

“I merely meant that should our comrades fail in reaching us, you are our best bet for both survival and finding a way off of this forsaken planet.”

Well, Megatron wasn’t wrong per se, out of the both of them Ratchet was the one with the technical knowledge that could maybe help them somehow, provided he had the means to do so. 

“I wouldn't hold your breath on that,” he mutters, ignoring the bloom of pleasure for somebody having a bit of faith in him. “I don’t exactly carry that kind of equipment on me.”

To many close calls had taught him to always be prepared throughout the war. It was why he carried extra energon and supplies beyond that of a standard med kit with him at all times. But he certainly wasn’t carting around the tools and parts needed that could help them at this moment.

Maybe he should have been. This war had taken more than one strange turn.

“I have faith you will figure something out if needed.” And the truth was that Megatron sounded sincere, like he really did believe Ratchet would find a way to save their afts if all else failed.

Primus, it was like the world had been turned on its head.

They drive in silence for a bit as Megatron’s words bounce around in his processor, and he finds himself making an inventory of everything in his subspace that could be even remotely useful for more than medical purposes.

There was no way he was going to be able to pull a space bridge out of his aft, but just maybe, depending on where they were in the universe, he might be able to create a distress signal strong enough to reach Earth.

Ratchet broods on the possibility for a while, not really noticing when Megatron picks up the pace but falling in step beside him automatically. They are going at a decent clip now, and have easily been driving for about twenty minutes, this damn tunnel had to end soon.

As though reading his thoughts Megatron’s voice cuts through his processor, informing him that they have about five more minutes before reaching the other side. Ratchet sags a bit in relief, eager to get out of the darkness and gloom while infinitely grateful they haven’t run into anything terrible yet.

A few minutes later and faint light begins to bloom ahead of them, increasing in brightness the closer they get. Ratchet wants to speed up, but the moment he begins to Megatron speaks again, his tone once more hard and serious.

“Slow down, we don’t know what we will come out to on the other side.”

Ratchet doesn't want to spend any longer in this damn cave than he has to but knows Megatron has a point, so he slows down to match his pace and shudders his headlights off once it is bright enough to properly see. They roll the last few feet to the opening of the tunnel and sit idling for long moments as they stare out at the landscape before them.

It’s not much.

Just more blue grass interspersed by the odd twisted shrub, and to the left, in the distance a solitary tree jutting up high into the sky.

Ratchet transforms and sets both hands on his hips, listening to the squeak and grind of Megaton doing the same with a wince. By Primus the mech needed to oil his damn joints, they sounded ready to seize at any moment.

“Well, which direction is this energon in?”

Megatron points to the northwest, and Ratchet feels a groan building in his chest. A part of him had hoped they would come out of the tunnel and not have far to go, but now as he looks into the distant horizon, those hopes peter out and die.

“Fine,” he huffs, spying a boulder to the left the perfect size to sit on and stomping his way towards it. “But we’re stopping to fuel first.”

He hops up onto the rock, his pedes not quite brushing the ground, and snags two cubes from his subspace. He cracks his own open and holds the other out to Megatron, who takes it but does not immediately open it. Instead, he stares at it with a frown on his face, looking for all the world like it held the secrets to the universe within it.

Ratchet eyes him over his cube, trying to decipher the strange expression on Megatron’s face, but before he can Megatron shakes his helm and cracks the cube open, once again downing half of it in one pull. Ratchet shrugs internally, deciding it was probably nothing, Megatron was an enigma at times, after all, Primus only knew what went through his processor.

“We have a fair amount of ground to cover, but we should reach the deposit with daylight to spare.”

Megatron’s voice knocks Ratchet out of his thoughts, and he glances up at the warlord with a sigh on his lips. “And you’re certain this is the best course of action?”

Megatron nods and takes the final sip from his cube, holding the empty out for Ratchet to subspace. “It’s the closest signal, the rest would take days to reach.”

Well, that was as good a reason as any Ratchet supposed, so he slips down off of his rock and turns toward the direction they need to go. “Alright, let’s do it.”

They take off heading northwest, once again driving side by side. The ground here is again blessedly even, which means they can drive at a decent speed. A good thing, considering how far they have to go.

Hours pass and the mountains behind them grow further and further away. Shapes begin to pop up in the distance, massive boulders and small outcroppings of rock, the occasional lone tree reaching high up toward the sun. There is little life to be seen aside from the buzzing insects and the occasional bird circling above, though once or twice Ratchet thinks he spots some small animal scuttling through the grass.

It’s incredibly boring, and Ratchet finds himself falling into his thoughts as he drives pretty much on autopilot. He’s worried about the situation back home, about the med bay falling into chaos around a scrambling First Aid, about Wheeljack falling into stasis lock at his desk from lack of fuel, about Optimus pushing himself to collapse without an extra hand to wrangle the trouble makers. He thinks of the twins finally managing to break into his office and stealing all of his good engex, and about every other horrid scenario likely to take place in his absence.

It was the reason he didn’t take vacations, why he rarely left the Ark without force. They all needed to be watched, constantly, or they fell into a pile of chaotic scrap.

Prowl was only so effective.

“I can hear you thinking.”

Ratchet will never admit to jolting a little at the sound of Megatron’s voice, and he growls low in his chassis to cover it. “At least I’m capable of it.”

Megatron huffs another one of those laughs that knock Ratchet off balance, and for the briefest of moments, nudges Ratchet with an EM field filled with amusement. The act is enough of a shock that he nearly freezes, and it takes a moment longer then he would like for his processor to start working again.

EM fields were a closely guarded thing between Cybertronians, mechs didn’t go around nudging them into each other willy-nilly! And here was Megatron, using his with Ratchet as though they were old friends.

He wasn’t certain what to feel.

In the end, he decides to ignore it, seriously beginning to suspect there was something wrong in Megatron’s processor. Perhaps he had a virus or a parasite, or maybe Shockwave had gone and screwed around up there and messed something up because the idea that Megatron was sane and simply acting this way because he wanted to was more than Ratchet wanted to think about right now.

He sighs, and this time it is long and deep and suffering.

Thankfully Megatron leaves him alone for the next little while, and when he does speak again it is to inform Ratchet that they are nearing their destination. The information is a relief, they’ve been driving for hours, and while neither of them knows what they are going to find once they get there, it has to be better than this

What that is becomes clear the closer they get, as faint, unnatural shapes begin to appear on the horizon. Megatron stops and transforms, and Ratchet follows as they both stare down over a small knoll at a smattering of dilapidated buildings nestled at the bottom

“I’m not picking up any life signals,” Megatron says, after long moments of staring.

Ratchet isn’t either, but that didn’t mean anything if organics were living down there, or if there were mechanicals and they were masking themselves.

“The energon signal is coming from there.” Megatron is pointing to a large, obvious hole in the ground just behind the buildings, and Ratchet works his intake for something to say.

But what can he say? They’ve already come this far, and they needed energon if they didn’t want to fall into stasis lock and rust out here, so it wasn’t as though they had many options.

“We’ll check it out.”

Megatron nods and they both begin a slow descent down the hill, taking care to make as little noise as possible. Megatron is holding a blaster in each hand, primed and ready to shoot if need be, and Ratchet has both of his plasma blades drawn. He stands a few feet behind the warlord, optics scouring for any sign of life or movement. But so far there is nothing. Nothing but the sound of grass rustling in the breeze and the faint hiss of their venting.

They reach the bottom of the hill and edge closer to the first structure. Ratchet hadn’t been able to tell before, but this close he can see the design of the building is strikingly Cybertronian. It looks like it might have at one point been a generic office space, but the ravages of time have rendered it little more than a half-collapsed, rusted pile of scrap.

Megatron looks over his shoulder and motions with his head at the next pile of once building and creeps forward slowly, blasters held out, ready to shoot. He nudges at the heap of twisted metal and then glances around. 

“I’m going to say this place is abandoned.” He subspaces one of his guns and bends down to run a hand over an old support beam. “Whoever was here left long ago.”

“What do you make of it?” Ratchet doesn't know what to feel about finding a Cybertronian settlement on a distant planet, but the entire thing is giving him a case of the heebie-jeebies.

“I don’t know.” He hesitates, and then catches Ratchet’s optic with his own, frown severe on his face. “Come, we should check out the other buildings.”

\- - -

In total there are five buildings, or were, before being reduced to rubble.

They spend a bit of time examining what’s left of the old structures, but aside from half rusted sheet metal and support beams, there seems to be little else. The evidence of them being Cybertronian in origin is clear though, and the fact seems to leave Megatron perturbed.

He’s taken to standing and glaring down at the rubble with his arms crossed as though the ruins will give up their secrets if he can only intimidate them enough.

Ratchet sighs and feels his age in every strut. “Come on,” he grunts, already beginning to walk away. “We’ll figure it out later.” He can feel Megatron’s gaze burning on the back of his helm, and it elicits an odd mix of ire and pleasure that he doesn’t really want to understand.

“You’re awfully level headed today, for one usually so... _passionate_.”

He can hear the smirk in Megatron’s words and suddenly the urge smack the aft upside the head is almost too great to bear. He’s being cajoled, and he knows it, but the mech's constant switch between placid and haughty is getting under his plating more than one or the other would.

“Shut up!” He snaps, tired and hungry and _done_. All he wants to do is gather a bit of energon and start trying to work on a distress beacon so they can get the hell off of this slagging planet, not spend his time sidestepping around whatever psychological crisis Megatron was currently subject to.

“Ah, there it is.”

Ratchet stops abruptly and spins on his heel so fast his optics blur, entirely ready to make good on once again bringing Megatron to his aft, but the expression on his face stops him. The bastard is full-on grinning, arms crossed across his chassis and field brimming with amusement that Ratchet can once again _feel_.

That was it. He was going to hold that aft hole down and pry his sorry excuse for a helm open.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Did you let Shockwave into that empty processor of yours?” He stomps forward, hands clenched into fists and optics narrowed. “Because I swear to Primus-”

Megatron cuts him off with a barking laugh, the kind that vibrates his entire frame and crinkles the corners of his optics. “As if I’d be so foolish as to allow Shockwave to fiddle with my functioning! No medic, I can assure you there is nothing wrong with me.”

Ratchet would beg to differ, but he keeps his mouth shut on _that_ front. “Then what Megatron? I’m too old to be playing these damn games.”

Megatron lets out a final huff of laughter and takes a step forward, placing himself firmly in Ratchet’s bubble of space. “I play no games. In fact, I too find myself growing too old for such things.”

At this distance, the warlord is very _close_. So close Ratchet can see the spider webbing of cracks in his paint, the faint outlines of dents not properly popped, and smell the scent of gun oil and leather wafting from him. It sends a tight coil of heat to places it should _not_ , and he covers it with another glare and a twist of his lip. “It sure seems like you’re playing games. You’re acting like...” He trails off as Megatron leans closer, optics flicking up and down the entirety of his frame.

“Acting like what? Like a mech with more than one facet? I didn’t know you were such an expert on my behavior.” Ratchet wants to take a step back, deny this entire encounter was happening, but Megatron chooses that moment to prod Ratchet with his field. “Though you would know better than most.”

Megatron rears back, straightening, and steps past Ratchet to continue. “Come, let us see what we can dredge up from this mine.”

Ratchet sputters where he stands, a tangled mix of heat and frustration roiling inside him. He doesn't know if he wants to chase after Megatron and throttle him, or sit down and put his head in his hands. This entire situation was getting out of hand and they had barely been there a day, pit only knew how he was going to keep from going insane.

It was like going back in time, back to when he’d reluctantly let Orion drag him to Megatron’s cramped apartment outside of the arena. He’d gone to keep an optic on his soft sparked friend, to keep him from both literally and figuratively getting his spark ripped out, and had instead found himself locked in increasingly passionate debates over the merit of just about everything with a gladiator who had a roguish smile and knew how to get under his plating with just a few well-placed words.

That had been the version of Megatron who Orion had loved, the version who had disappeared the day the Matrix slotted itself into his oldest friend's chest. Ratchet often wondered if that version had even existed, or if it had all just been a ruse that had fallen away the moment Megatron was denied what he wanted. Other nights though, he wondered if it was something more, if losing Orion to the impassivity of the matrix had killed the only part of Megatron capable of feeling anything but anger.

Ratchet would prefer it to be the first because the second meant that Megatron had been sincere once in his attempt to free their planet, but had simply allowed hurt and the want for revenge to cloud his way. Those were things Ratchet could identify with, even if his own feelings of anger had manifested in different ways. He shakes his helm, tired of circling thoughts about a mech who any other day would likely kill him on sight. There was no place for nostalgia, not here and not in the middle of a _war_.

He stomps after Megatron and focuses his thoughts on survival. They needed energon, shelter, and the parts for him to work on a distress signal, all of which were somewhat laid out before them in this strange, abandoned whatever it was.

He was not going to let Megatron get under his plating.

\- - -

Megatron is already at the edge of the mine by the time Ratchet catches up, peering down into the sloping darkness with a critical optic able to see more than Ratchet can.

He stares at him, watching the thoughts flit across his face, and crosses his arms with a huff when Megatron remains silent even after long moments of staring. “Well?” Megatron does not answer right away, but instead kicks his pede and sends a shower of loose rock tumbling down into the pit.

They both listen to the sound of the rocks bounce, until they stop, hitting something solid.

“Whoever started this mine did not get far.” He edges closer, so close the tips of his pedes hang over the edge, and Ratchet resists the sudden urge to reach out and yank him back, as though the thought of Megatron taking a tumble into the darkness bothered him.

It didn’t, not at all.

Instead, he tightens his arms and glances back at the heap of metal and decay behind them, eager to start salvaging what he can.

“I’m going to go see what I can scrounge up. I take it you can deal with this?” He flaps a hand at the open pit and is mildly relieved when Megatron nods.

“I’ll take care of it. How much do you think you need for a distress beacon?”

That was not an easy question to answer, considering he had no idea where in the universe they were. So he lifts a shoulder and huffs a sigh. “Don’t know. Just get what you can.”

Megatron inclines his head and flips his headlights on, starting his descent down the slope. He pauses a few feet in though, and casts a last, considering glance at Ratchet. “Keep the comm between us open.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He mutters, already trudging back to the dilapidated buildings. There are so many things he needs to build a long-range beacon, and he had little hope of finding much of use within the heaps of rust, but he couldn't not try, especially when it seemed Megatron was far from giving up.

He just had to find a way to send a signal, any sort of signal, far enough to reach the beginning edge of the Earth's solar system. That was close enough the Ark would be able to pick it up, though what would happen from there, Ratchet had no clue.

The Decepticons were the only ones with a functional space bridge, and that was on Cybertron, controlled by Shockwave. Ratchet had been straight up ignoring the fact that it was going to likely be the Decepticons coming to their rescue.

But despite how unappealing it all was, it was less appealing to remain here, which is why he squares his shoulders and eyes the mess of debris with the same kind of focus he uses in the medbay. This was far from the first time he’d cobbled something together out of nothing, and the situations before were usually much more dire.

He could definitely manage something now.

An hour later and he’s fighting down a wave of frustration. There isn't much here, and a lot of what there is won't be of much help. Most of what is left of the old buildings are just scraps of sheet metal and bits of framing. It seemed whoever had been here had taken most of what had been in the buildings with them when they’d left. He had little more than a few handfuls of old wire and a few circuit boards from a crushed, half rusted console.

Aside from that, he’d found a few mangled berths and a couple of old chairs half-buried beneath the rubble. He hadn’t been able to dislodge them despite copious amounts of pulling, so had left them for later. Megatron could probably get them out. Speaking of which, he glances over to the mouth of the mine and sees that the small pile of raw energon has grown.

Megatron has been working steadily to mine what he can, and if Ratchet adjusts his audials just right he can faintly hear the smashing and pounding of the mech working below the surface.

It is a relief, a small one, but a relief nonetheless.

Starvation was a pit of a way to go. One which involved a lot of suffering before it finally kicked in. He had no desire to succumb in such a way and very much doubted Megatron did either. The mech was already half-starved from their most recent campaign against the Decepticons, it was obvious in the dullness of his paint and the way it was beginning to flake off around his joints.

Not that Ratchet agreed with any of it.

No matter how he felt about the Decepticons, no matter what had happened during the war, starving their enemy into submission was torture too cruel. It was one of the very things that had started the war to begin with, one of the council's most egregious crimes, and a technique they were now using.

Ratchet was not certain why Optimus had condoned it, save that the idea had been _Starscream’s_ , and lately, whatever Starscream wanted, Starscream got.

It was terrible, and Ratchet hated it. Hated knowing that when a fight did break out the enemy they fought against was running on hardly any fuel at all. Orion would never have stood for such things, and that Optimus was willing to was a disappointment greater then his unwillingness to love Ratchet back had ever been.

He felt the loss of Orion as though he were dead.

He’d been changed almost as much as Megatron had, and the result had led them to where they were now.

They were fighting over nothing. The war had devolved into the sort of mindless violence that had no end goal except to burn up everything in its path. Their species was nearly extinct, their planet dead, and each week was simply a play to cause one another as much harm as possible.

They were no longer fighting for freedom because they had given it up along the way.

The thought causes him to surge with anger, and Ratchet kicks at a piece of metal as hard as he can. The force dislodges it, just a bit, and there sitting in the rubble is the corner of a case that he recognizes. He bends down and works to pry it out from where it is wedged, and it pops free on the last tug.

A medkit.

Dented, but otherwise not damaged.

He pops the thing open with a bated vent, and a thrill runs through him at what he finds.

Equipment, not just mesh patches and shots of anesthetic, but _actual_ equipment.

There is a spanner, a welder, a small drill, and even an ion gun. All very useful things he could take apart and utilize without needing to dismantle his own equipment. That had been one of his biggest worries, he didn’t want to have to take apart his own devices, they were rare and incredibly hard to replicate.

Priceless, really.

With this though, and the other bits and pieces he kept in his subspace, he had the parts needed for a rudimentary beacon. Whether it would reach far enough was still a question, but it was a start.

He sets the case down carefully near a pile of sheet metal he’d created while digging through the debris and surveys the space around him. Working on the signal was a priority, though he would have to put it off for a more immediate need.

Some kind of shelter would be necessary before night, even if it didn’t rain again.

A lot of the metal he had piled up could be utilized, and some of the supports from the old buildings were collapsed but still intact. Between the two of them, they could probably throw a makeshift shelter together before nightfall, and then he could start working on the distress beacon. He would need Megatron’s help, though.

With a sigh on his lips more tired than anything, he engages the open comm between them. “How much longer are you going to spend down there?”

There’s a short crack of static, courtesy of the rock Megatron is under, and his voice cuts through a moment later. “I’m nearly done, for now. Any luck on your end?”

“Some, yes.” Ratchet starts walking back towards the open mine, eyeing the pile of raw energon with a calculating optic. This much should be enough to fuel them for a bit, as well as at least start building the signal. “We should try and get some sort of shelter together soon.” Ratchet waits with his arms crossed at the top of the slope, peering down into the darkness and trying to see if he can make out anything of Megatron.

Moments later Megatron emerges, stepping into the dimly lit mouth of the mine. He is veritably covered in dust, though Ratchet fares little better after digging through the rubble, and is carrying another small armful of energon.

“I agree, the sun will start to set in a few hours.” He speaks the words out loud, though the comm line still buzzes between them. “What have you managed to find?”

Megatron pulls himself up the last few feet of the slope, and before he can hesitate Ratchet offers him a hand. He is not certain why he does it, only that Megatron looks worn and stiff from his work and Ratchet feels much the same way.

The biggest surprise is that Megatron takes it, and allows Ratchet to tug him up the last foot of the incline. “I’ve found some medical equipment I can disassemble.” He takes a step to the side as soon as Megatron lets him go, and ignores the way his hand tingles. “It will be enough to start.”

Megatron nods and moves to the pile of energon, bending to gather as much of it into his arms as he can. Ratchet hesitates only for a moment before moving to help, still struck by the surreality of working with _Megatron_.

The worst part was that it wasn’t even that difficult.

Megatron was being surprisingly amenable, rational, and level headed about the situation. A complete one-eighty from how he’d been for most of the war, as though somewhere along the way the anger had bled out of him. Ratchet was still concerned something had been done to his processor, but without going in there to check, he had no real way of knowing.

There was also something else, hidden in the shadows of his optics. Ratchet had seen it last night in the cave, a fleeting thing he didn’t want to name for fear of what naming it meant.

“Ratchet.”

He looks up as the glyphs fall from Megatron’s lips, who is standing now and staring down at him. The sound hangs between them, suspended like it does not know where to go, and Ratchet feels his spark freeze in his chassis.

He has not heard Megatron say his name in eons. Not since that day in the citadel which had seen them both loose the same precious thing.

Megatron huffs, the lines around his optics creasing, and suddenly the world begins to move once more. He shifts the energon in his arms to the crook of one elbow and extends a hand toward Ratchet, the corner of his lips tugging into a smirk.

“I tire of calling you by a title.” Ratchet takes his hand before he can think of anything else, and a strong arm tugs him to his pedes. “Come, let’s set up shelter.”

\- - -

An hour later and between the two of them they manage to set up a decent spot to spend the night.

They’d utilized the old framing, sheet metal, and an intact bit of foundation to build a structure big enough for the both of them to fit, and Ratchet had used his welder to secure it as best as he was able. It was not pretty, but it would do, and perhaps tomorrow he would shore it up a little more, in case another storm blew through. As it was though, he was tired and running low on energon, and they had one more important task to accomplish.

Refining raw energon into something they could consume was a bit of a process, but one they both luckily had experience with. Ratchet was surprised Megatron carried his own portable refining station, but the surprise quickly morphed into hope when the realization hit him that they had two. It meant Ratchet could disassemble his own and use it for parts, and the thought got him wondering what else Megatron might have rolling around in his subspace.

He’d have to ask.

Dusk has begun to settle in the sky, steady darkness chasing away the sun. Ratchet takes one more moment to look around the area and then follows Megatron into their shelter. Once they are both inside, Megatron pulls closed the piece of metal serving as their door and the inside plunges into darkness for a moment, before soft light flicks on, illuminating a small space around them.

“I’d nearly forgotten I had this.” Megaton’s voice is low, subdued in the intimacy of their shared space. Sitting in his hands is a small light, one that had been common back on Cybertron before the war. Ratchet had, had several before, used them during the night cycle while doing paperwork in his office, and knew they had adjustable settings that allowed them to dim and brighten.

“Can you turn it up?” Megatron does, and the space around them brightens, allowing him to see into all of the corners. He shifts, getting as comfortable as he can on the hard floor, and starts to empty his subspace.

Megatron watches him but remains silent, so Ratchet ignores him and concentrates on sorting what he has into piles. He sets aside anything that will not be useful for the beacon and pulls the found medkit over to rifle through it.

Most of the stuff inside of it is still good, and he adds the mesh patches, vials of anesthetic, sealed needles, and pain chips to his own stash. There is even a bottle of joint oil that he eyes for a moment, remembering the squeak and grind of Megatron’s joints. He snorts and sets it aside, deciding he’ll hand it over to the mech later.

The medical instruments he sets in front of him, lined up with the other bits of useful things from his subspace. He eyes it all, glancing up only when Megatron shifts and leans closer, his optics curious.

“You can turn all of this into a working beacon?”

Ratchet plucks up the spanner and starts working to remove its back, a tiny screwdriver popping up out of his finger that he uses to start unscrewing the paneling. “I can, yes.” He drops the tiny screws to the side and gently works the back off. “The problem is getting it to reach far enough.”

“Could you send a signal to two different locations?”

Ratchet pauses in removing the internals of the device and looks up to meet Megatron’s optics with a frown on his face. “Well, yes. I could send the signal one place and then reset the device to send it to another. Why though?”

Where else could they send it except Earth? Unless they sent it to...

“Cybertron?”

Megatron nods, a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Shockwave is the only one with space bridge access, he will be the one bridging us out of here either way.” Right. Seemed Megatron knew the Autobots had little chance of being the ones to save them.

Still, Ratchet makes a face.

He does not like Shockwave, and the thought of being forced to be around him was about as pleasant as being forced to lick Starscream’s heel, and he says as much out loud.

Megatron must find his sentiments amusing because he bursts out laughing so hard he’s holding his sides and gasping for a vent by the end of it, lubricant beading at the corners of his optics.

Well then.

Ratchet shoots him his best stink eye and rolls his optics.

Despite his dislike of the idea, it wasn’t a bad one. Doubling their chances of being found was wise, and at this point, he supposed he was willing to deal with Shockwave for a bit if it meant getting off of this planet.

Still, Shockwave was creepy as pit, so he didn’t have to like the idea.

Megatron calms down, finally, and scrubs a hand over his face, chest still heaving from the force of his laughter. He sucks in a deep, rattling vent and Ratchet winces at the sound. Damn, he hated that sound, and now that it was once again at the forefront of his processor, he wasn’t going to get any work done until he fixed it.

“Hook is an absolute hack, you know.” He spits the words while reaching back to grab his own medkit, certain he has the right sized filter in there somewhere. “I don’t know how the lot of you haven’t fallen into scrap by now.”

Megatron raises a brow ridge and leans forward, chin resting in the palm of his hand as he watches Ratchet dig through his supplies. “Is this your professional opinion?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he hisses, setting the kit aside when he has the proper filter in hand. “Open your chest plates.”

Megatron arches his brow ridge higher, and an absolutely _filthy_ smirk spreads over his face. “So soon? You haven’t even bought me energon yet.”

Ratchet sucks in a vent and looks up at the ceiling, mentally cursing his very existence. Primus, it was like being back on the Ark and trying to deal with Ironhide, terrible innuendo, and all. But at least Megatron does open his chest plates instead of forcing Ratchet to do it himself, and he focuses his attention back on him at the sound of their opening. He slides over and orders Megatron to lean back, and blatantly ignores the amused optics watching him.

He bypasses Megatron’s spark casing and reaches deep into his internals to start carefully removing the old filter. The warlord grunts once and shifts uncomfortably, and Ratchet smirks. Replacing a filter was an easy process, but on mechs with Megatron’s frame, the access point tended to be hidden deep behind the energon pump. Which meant it was painless but rather uncomfortable.

“What are you even doing?” Megatron spits the words from between clenched denta, and Ratchet looks up to meet his grimace with a malicious smile. The bastard wasn’t so cocky now.

“What your medic is too stunned too,” the filter comes loose and he tugs it out, smile melting into a look of horror at the sight of it. “When the hell was the last time you changed this?” It is the worst he thinks he’s ever seen, so black with grime and completely disintegrated in spots that is is a wonder Megatron hasn’t either overheated or asphyxiated to death. “Are you sure there isn't something wrong with your processor? Because this is an atrocity.” He flings the old filter into a corner to deal with later, and then promptly glares up at Megatron with his best look of long-suffering irritation.

To his credit, Megatron does look slightly sheepish, and he turns his head away and mutters something Ratchet can’t quite hear. “What was that?” Megatron purses his lips, and for a moment he looks all the world like a guilty newspark.

“Not since Polyhex.”

Ratchet sucks a vent in between his denta and then blows it back out in a long sigh, reaching back into Megatron’s chest to attach the new filter. “That was a bloody long time ago.”

It was.

Long enough to feel like a lifetime, or ten.

“Yes, it was.” Megatron is back to watching him, but all of the sass is gone from his face. “I often find myself overwhelmed when I consider just how much time has passed.”

Ratchet hums, and finishes with the new filter but doesn't pull out just yet. He takes a moment instead to scrutinize what he can see of Megatron’s insides, eyeing old weld marks and shoddy soldering jobs. One such patch on his left rib framing looks fresh, can only be a week or so old by his estimate, and was done so terribly that tiny, hairline cracks have begun to form around it.

He pods at it gently, and around him, Megatron stiffens. “Does that hurt?” He pulls back to look at the warlords face, and the strain around his optics betrays his muttered ‘no.’

“Liar.” Ratchet huffs, sitting back on his heels to regard the entirety of the frame before him. “You can feel that whenever you move, can’t you?”

Megatron looks for all the world like he wants to say no again, but a single, pointed look is all it takes for him to give in and admit that yes it does hurt, and Ratchet shakes his head. “You’re a walking disaster, it’s beyond me how you are still functioning.”

“Dumb luck.” He huffs, and Ratchet laughs at that.

Because yes, dumb luck was likely the culprit and it is mildly hilarious that Megatron is willing to admit it. “I’m going to remove that weld and fix it properly, or it’s just going to get worse.”

“You’re quite pushy, did you know that?”

Megatron’s voice is a low rasp between them, and he shifts to lean even further against the wall behind him. Ratchet rolls his optics as he rummages through his medkit for a tube of numbing gel. “No one would survive if I wasn’t.”

“And yet they don’t realize it.”

 _That_ gives Ratchet pause, and he presses his lips together and forces himself to ignore Megatron’s words, hating the truth contained within them. “Move your leg,” he says, once again sliding into Megatron’s personal space, still ignoring the penetrating optics watching him with too much knowing. Megatron thankfully doesn't push the issue, and he moves his leg to the side and tilts his head back, shuttering his optics closed.

Ratchet applies the gel and waits a moment for it to set in before prodding gently at the cracks. He deems it working when Megatron doesn't flinch, and pulls out his smaller welder and starts to remove the old patch, which pops loose with barely any heat at all.

Atrocious.

Beneath the patch is a much larger, deeper crack that is definitely the result of an impact injury, and Ratchet figures most of the welds littering the inside of Megatron’s chest likely are. Some are old. So old they probably predate the war, a nice little reminder of the rough beginning that had shaped Megatron into the mech he was.

Though here in the silence, broken only by the whir of the processing energon and the sound of their vents Megatron certainly didn’t _seem_ like Megatron.

Ratchet hated to admit that the mech before him felt real when it was so much easier to see him as a terrifying vestige of war and hatred. That was something that required nothing, nothing but the simple belief that Megatron was a monster and was, and had, always been one.

But Ratchet knew better.

Deep down in his spark, he _knew_ that Megatronus and Megatron were one and the same. That what had led to the creation of Megatron was no different than what had led to the creation of Optimus Prime. They had come into existence to fill a void, to build a balance, but the void had grown too big – too big for two mechs to possibly tame.

It was a failure, but a failure of his own. Of all of theirs, for expecting two mechs as fallible as any other to solve all of their problems.

“What are you thinking about?”

Ratchet jerks, just a bit, but manages to keep his hand steady in Megatron’s chest. He’s nearly done with the new weld and finishes before deciding to answer.

“Nothing.”

It is such an obvious lie that he feels foolish saying it, but he’s not certain he wants Megatron privy to the roiling thoughts that have plagued his processor for longer than he is willing to admit.

“I find thinking of nothing nearly always ends in thinking the truth.”

Ratchet flicks the welder off and grips it tighter in his hand, still elbow deep in Megatron’s internals. He stares at Megatron’s energon pump as though it holds all of the answers, hears the faint thud of it providing life to the mech before him. It would be so easy to end it all here, a mere slip of the hand and Megatron would be gone in seconds.

So many others had tried and failed to snuff the spark they saw as the reason for the war, for their misery.

But that was wrong.

Killing Megatron would change nothing, because what had created him remained.

The war would not end with his death, nor would it end with the death of Optimus Prime. With the way things were it would only end when the last spark of their species was snuffed out.

It is a thought he has only just allowed to take shape, despite having existed for eons. Every time it has crept up he has beaten it down with the anger and hurt that was ignited that day in the citadel

The same hurt that had been ignited in Megatron.

But sitting here in the quiet dimness with Megatron’s banked optics staring down at him the hurt numbs and the anger flakes away, and when he does look up the expression on Megatron’s face mirrors his own. “It’s gone, isn't it?”

The words do not feel like they come from his mouth, but from somewhere else, and they sit between them as heavy as a stone. Megatron’s optics do not leave him, and what Ratchet can see in them admit a million things.

“Yes.”

He shifts and grasps Ratchet’s arm, drawing his hand from out of his chassis.

“I am done now.”

It should sound like a defeat but it doesn't, because within Megatron willing to concede is a victory they had been unable to reach. One which even the end of the war would not have attained.

“Why?” He has to know, has to hear the words given shape so that the truth can be made real for himself.

“Because what I wanted is gone, and is no longer what I knew it to be.” He turns Ratchet’s hand over and traces a single finger down the palm, setting off a riot of shivers that settle at the base of his spinal strut. “I tried to replace what I had lost but allowed jealously to be my guide once more, and in the end that too left me.”

Ratchet thinks of the day before, of standing in the doorway of his office and watching Starscream wrapped around Optimus in the way he had imagined himself doing a thousand times before. “He was never ours.” And that there is the bitter truth of it all, because Orion had never chosen, had never tried to pull either of them closer. “And now he is Starscream’s.”

Megatron laughs, and the sound is bitter. “Yes. And we are both fools.” He traces another line down Ratchet’s hand and sighs. “Though Starscream is not an easy mech to love, he will make it hard on Optimus.”

Ratchet huffs at that and leans a bit closer, feeling something wicked curl inside him. “He’s already not made it easy, and his carry has made it all the worse.”

Megatron rolls his optics to the ceiling and shakes his helm, plating tightening against his frame as though he is resisting the urge to shudder. “I cannot imagine.”

“He tried to convince me a broken nail was a medical emergency on account of the stress it was causing him affecting the bitlet.”

Megatron throws his head back and laughs loud and hard, and Ratchet is pleased with the distinct lack of wheezing in his vents. “He’s pulled that tick without a spark growing inside of him.”

It’s not hard to imagine that he has, because Ratchet has never met a mech as self-involved as Starscream, and he’s been contending with Sunstreaker for _years_. “Yeah well, I don’t put up with that scrap. There’s a reason First Aid is his doctor.”

One reason, among many.

The smirk plastered on Megatron’s face grows, and he releases Ratchet’s hand to reach up and close his chest plates. The action leaves Ratchet feeling strangely bereft, but it also leaves him realizing just how _close_ they really are.

“When we leave this place I will end the war.”

“Will you?” Ratchet cannot help but ask, an edge of bitterness seeping into his words and field. “You’ve said that before, only to turn around and do the opposite.” He can count on both hands the number of times negotiations to end the war have fallen through, and while Megatron may have come back to some kind of sense, Ratchet still far from trusts him.

“This time I mean it.” He opens his hand and holds it out for Ratchet to see, spreading his fingers so that the discolored, flaking spots of paint around the joints become all too visible. “My mechs are starving, and without Starscream there to contend with I have found myself with too much time to think.”

Ratchet snatches Megatron’s hand before he can pull it away, and scrapes a thumb from the base of his palm to the start of the color death below his pointer finger. It is one of the first obvious signs of starvation and malnutrition to emerge, and while the spread on his hands and around his other joints is mild, it spoke to just how effective the newest tactics employed by the Autobots really were.

“It may not be an end to all fighting though. There are those in my ranks who will not take me conceding well.”

Ratchet didn’t doubt there were, and while still untrusting of Megatron’s intent, something desperately wanted him to give Megatron the benefit of the doubt.

Pit. Maybe whatever was wrong with Megatron’s processor was contagious.

“You had better be serious Megatron,” Ratchet tightens his grip on the hand in his, and for a brief moment squeezes it hard enough to cause a shock of pain the widens the warlord's optics. “Because if you’re not, it will not be Optimus you have to deal with.”

Megatron eyes him cryptically, then inclines his helm, expression as grim as death. “I will keep my word.”

Beside them, there is a ping, the energon processor completing its cycle, and Ratchet lets go of the hand in his and turns his head toward it. “Let’s fuel.” He says, drawing back to sit at a more respectable distance now that the intensity between them has lessened. “We may as well get a head start on getting you properly fed.”


End file.
